Memento Amor
by Otaku786
Summary: After the incident beneath Ba Sing Se, Zuko was "killed" in an airship crash, but given another chance by the spirits. This time though, he had to remember to love...and found himself chasing the Avatar in an entirely different way. Kitty!Zuko
1. Life

_**Memento **__**Amor**_

**Summary:**After betraying his Uncle—and ultimately himself—beneath Ba Sing Se, Zuko is involved in a freak accident. Given another chance by the spirits, Zuko is placed in the body of a cat and must redeem his own honor. This time though, he must _remember to love_, and he somehow finds himself chasing the Avatar in an entirely different way...Kitty! Zuko

**Story Pairing:** Zuko/ Aang

**Chapter Rating:** T

**Disclaimer: **First of all, under different circumstances, I WOULD NEVER KILL ZUKO! Just so you all know. Secondly, all characters of _Avatar: The Last Airbender_ are property of Nickelodeon. Thirdly, all song lyrics belong to the American alternative metal band, Flyleaf.

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><p>Overwhelming guilt.<p>

That's all Zuko felt as he watched the Dai Li agents filing into the chamber and filing out after receiving Azula's orders. Azula, his biological younger sister, had already made her self quite comfortable in the former Earth King's throne. Somehow, despite of all the power and responsibility with which the seat came, Azula managed to look calm. Bored, even. She lounged in the oversized chair with her legs crossed and right elbow propped on the armrest, cheek cradled in her palm. Her effortless control was that of a true Fire Nation heir, and this fact briefly angered and confused Zuko.

_How can she just sit there? How can she be so lax when Uncle is…?_ Oh yeah, Zuko remembered. _He_ was the one having the breakdown because _he_ was the one who'd betrayed their Uncle Iroh.

The guilt was back: seemingly heavier than before its moment of absence.

Zuko allowed his self to slump against the back of the throne, to Azula's left, after the last member of another group exited the room. With a barely audible sigh, the seventeen-year old pinched the bridge of his nose. It had only been a few days since that fateful night beneath the palace. Even though that girl from the Southern Water Tribe managed to get away with the Avatar's body, it was claimed to be just that; a corpse. How had Zuko let this happen? He never would have imagined that he'd be given credit for slaying the Avatar. After all, what good would come of killing his father's greatest enemy if the Avatar would just be reincarnated somewhere else? According to Azula, however, their father—Lord Ozai; the Fire Lord—would accept Zuko simply for being the one to end the Avatar's current life.

The thing was, though, that Zuko hadn't been. Azula had.

Yes, Zuko felt guilty. He would be returning to the Fire Nation with regained honor for a murder he hadn't committed, while his uncle was being locked away behind bars somewhere. His Uncle Iroh. The man who'd felt more like a father to Zuko over the past several years than his own father ever had. The person who'd supported and believed in him even when he'd been banished from his home. The one who'd cared for him even as he wore the branded mark of a traitor.

Zuko had possible betrayed the last person to ever potentially love him. Thinking this for what had to be the hundredth time in the past forty-eight hours, Zuko sighed again.

"Was that Midday meeting Hell enough for you?"

Zuko's attention was again pulled to Azula. He soon noticed though that the chamber was void of all life but the two siblings, and that meant Azula must have been speaking to him. _Oh_, Zuko realized, slightly surprised because Azula hadn't addressed him directly since much earlier that day. Forcing his self to somber up, Zuko racked his brain: what had she just said? Zuko's mind had been under a smoky haze ever since the weight of his betrayal had sunken in. Something about a meeting…?

"You've been out of it all day." Azula continued, not seeming to care in the slightest that her brother hadn't responded yet. Her cool but sharp gaze narrowed in on Zuko, whom she could just see behind the throne with her peripheral vision. The female continued. "You must be tired of all this political talk."

"I can handle it." Zuko snapped quickly, and a bit more harshly than he'd intended to.

He didn't want Azula to know that he was still moping. She'd probably just get annoyed, seeing as how she wasn't the comforting type—and thought their uncle deserved what happened anyway. He also didn't want to tell her how he really felt about the mentioned Midday meeting. It had been Hellish, but not for the reasons Azula assumed. Instead of being overwhelmed, Zuko rather believed he hadn't belonged there. He didn't feel like himself—dressed in heavy red and black robes with his growing hair pulled back with a clip. He'd actually been dreading his return to the Fire Nation if it meant having to listen to old guys discuss the "perfect world" all the time.

Perhaps it was because he knew, better than anyone, that the world was far from perfect.

Zuko also didn't want to alert Azula to his most recent stress factor. The feeling in his gut. The knowledge of a certain Waterbender's miraculous healing water from a spiritual oasis. The fact that he'd witnessed the Avatar elusion of death on more than one occasion. The possibility that somewhere; out there _right now_, the last Airbender was very much alive.

The teenager sighed and closed his eyes to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Sorry," he mumbled to his sister, who was watching him in amusement. "I guess I _am_ a bit fatigued."

Azula smirked. "Of course you are. So why don't you go rest then, Zu-Zu? It will be a long trip back to the Fire Nation and we leave tomorrow."

Zuko opened his eyes. _I forgot_, he thought. Someone had mentioned something about the morning departure sometime during the meeting. He remembered this only because of the distinct sinking feeling he'd had when he'd been told. But just as he did earlier, he now simply nodded in acknowledgment before turning on his heel to leave the room. He didn't see Azula's smirk grow as she uncrossed her legs to cross them again the opposite way.

Figuring that he should probably prepare for the trip, Zuko reluctantly gathered his few belongings and took them to his private airship. That's right: _his private airship_. Only fitting, Azula had assured him, for a returning prince of the Fire Nation. Zuko hadn't had the chance to ask whether she had her own as the princess, but he figured she probably did.

In his quarters of the airship, Zuko sat on the edge of the plush bed with his small sack of personal items beside him. _So much for packing_, Zuko thought glumly. The only personal belongings he had were the same things he'd been traveling with ever since he'd come to Ba Sing Se: some first aid supplies, a sentimental portrait of his uncle, and his Duel Dao Swords. He'd lost or given up his other things, like the mask of the Blue Spirit, his extra set of clothes, some spare Earth Kingdom coins, and small parcels of food.

"You'll have all the food you can eat back at the Palace." Azula had commented when she'd caught him sorting his stuff the previous day. "And those clothes and coins are trash in the Fire Nation."

Zuko had frowned but complied. Now, Zuko felt awkward in the Fire Nation attire after so long as a refugee. But at least these clothes were more comfortable than the thick robes he'd been in all day. He briefly wondered when Azula had the time to send for his equipped airship, but he brushed off the thought. Not sure what to do now, the teen ran a hand through his dark hair. Without that "royal hair clip", its length was surprising—his bangs almost completely hiding his eyebrows were it not for its windswept style. He remembered the day he and Uncle cut off their ponytails after learning that they were wanted fugitives. How long ago had that been? It seemed like years. So much had happened between then and now…

Zuko's shoulders slumped as he reminisced about his gray-haired, tea-drinking, advice-giving travel companion. Iroh. Zuko wondered if his uncle hated him now. But for some reason, the thought of being hated by his uncle hurt more than the thought of never regaining his father's approval. So Zuko ended his half-hearted musings there.

He was tired. He didn't think he'd be able to sleep though. Partially because there was an odd, high-pitched whistling in his ears. At first he thought it was all in his head, but after focusing on the sound for several minutes, Zuko identified the sound as some whining machine in the engine room below. _Somebody needs to fix that before we leave tomorrow…_ Zuko thought automatically, but regretted doing so when that same sinking feeling returned.

Zuko inwardly groaned and flopped onto his back. A few minutes of staring up at the cold metal ceiling, and the whistling sound seemed to be growing more insistent. Zuko rolled over onto his side. He drew his bag from the edge of the bed and curled up with it to his chest. Even though he'd be returning to his birthplace, he had a feeling that he'd still feel like the outsider. Just as he had been considered ever since his mother's disappearance all those years ago. The things in this bag were all he had to remind him of—what had become—his true identity.

Zuko, the ever wandering failure of a Fire Nation heir.

Zuko squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his mouth into a firm line. _What's wrong with me?_ He wondered. He recalled the whole "I can shape my own destiny" speech he'd given the Waterbender during their imprisonment together. _What happened to that confidence, huh, scar face? Not so tough without your grandpa of an Uncle around are you!_

This wasn't good. His insecurities were gaining a voice.

_I bet that's why you've never had a girlfriend._

Zuko tried his best to ignore the voice that sounded suspiciously like a younger version of Azula. He clutched the bag tighter to his body, the sheathed pair of swords inside poking into his abdomen. He attempted to replace the incessant whirring of his thoughts with memories of his Uncle's folk-singing. Ah yes, those songs. How had he ever found them annoying? What he wouldn't give to have Iroh playing one for him right now…

It was well past Midnight before Zuko finally drifted into a calm, trance-like peace of mind. Almost sleep, but not quite unconscious.

Perhaps it was all the time he'd spent on warships that put the Firebender on alert when the whistling finally stopped. He opened weary amber eyes to see the Fire Emblem tapestry hanging on the opposite wall, near the door. The room was dim, considering there were no windows here like on a Navy ship, and Zuko hadn't bothered to light a candle. He wondered what time it was. Had he over rested? Wouldn't somebody have come for him if he hadn't shown up to the Morning meeting? Had Azula told the crew not to disturb him and begin the takeoff already?

Zuko sat up. At first, he thought the motion sickness was a result of moving too fast. But upon getting to his feet to stretch, he deduced that the airship was actually already in the air. They were heading for the Fire Nation. _How kind of Azula to notify me. _Zuko thought sarcastically. But a part of him couldn't help but wonder if his sister genuinely cared about his health. She had been uncharacteristically…well…"kind" wasn't the word. More like…tolerable. Did she actually believe that Zuko could reclaim his rank in their father's eyes? Because honestly, Zuko wasn't sure if he even cared at the moment.

Curious as to how long he'd been in his quarters, Zuko crossed the room to the door. He knew that private airships weren't anywhere near as large as regular war aircraft; therefore it shouldn't be difficult to find the pilot's room. But just as the disheveled teen grabbed the door handle, well, he wasn't sure what happened. There was a loud groan of metal and he felt the floor jerk beneath him. The next moment, he felt as though he was being freed from gravity.

_What's happening?_

His stomach felt sickeningly light, and he just knew that it would float up and out of his throat any moment now.

It felt as if he was falling.

Zuko's grip tightened desperately on the door handle. Amber eyes darted frantically from wall to wall to floor to wall to ceiling to bed to scribing table. He watched in confusion as the table began to slide toward the bow of the aircraft, followed by the bed. His mind didn't register that his body was following until he was ripped away from the door handle. He was thrown into the right wall with a painful slam of his shoulder, grunting at the connection.

He could hear it now—the roaring of the engine below being strained by the ship's unbalance. Something was obviously terribly wrong. Zuko twisted his body so that his back was up against the bow-wall. The whole ship was on an angle, he realized with more than one kind of sinking feeling. Was the airship going to crash?

If so, where were the alarms?

Zuko didn't understand what was happening, feeling the frame of the airship trembling beneath him. But he knew that if he ever wanted to apologize to his uncle for betraying him, he had to get out of here. He didn't want his last memory of the man to be that of his disappointed gaze before he'd turned his head away. Zuko didn't wanting to forever be known as a disappointment. A failure. A traitor. Zuko shook his head before turning it to where the scribing table was sandwiched between the bed and the wall. His bag had tumbled forward from the bed to rest in the angle, and he could just reach it if he stretched his arm a little…_That hurts!_ Zuko gritted his teeth, but managed to grab the bag. He slung it over his head awkwardly. _Okay, so now what!_

Before he could think of an escape route, the airship lurched again, throwing Zuko into the corner of the room. The furniture followed suit, and the table collided sharply into his lower ribcage. The Firebender hissed, but at least counted himself fortunate that the table's corner hadn't stabbed him. Still though, he was pinned. He felt the walls quaking, sending tremors through his own body. The floor beneath his feet shook the most, and Zuko somehow knew that the engine couldn't take much more of this. There was no doubt about it now: the craft was going to crash.

The airship groaned as its equilibrium was compromised. Zuko groaned too upon feeling his stomach deepen. He'd never been one to give up hope. His quick wit and determination to live had saved his life countless times. There had always seemed to be some way or another out of any tough situation he found himself in. But what could he do now? There was no longer the goal of capturing the Avatar to drive him forward, and he'd utterly let down the one who'd always cheered him onward. Without any sparks of hope in his line of sight, Zuko could clearly see the impossibility of his current predicament.

He was stuck in a corner with his back literally up against the wall. Even if he did gather the strength to fight gravity and escape the room, he had nowhere to go. The airship was falling from over a kilometer above ground, and he was pretty sure that by now, they had to be somewhere near the ocean; away from civilization. If he didn't die from the impact, he'd be wandering without food or water for days because all supplies would be destroyed. Who knew where the rest of the air-fleet was? If this airship was suddenly malfunctioning, who's to say the others weren't as well? Zuko's sigh was unheard beneath the engine's cry.

He hadn't properly slept for days and he was tired.

He'd probably dislocated his shoulder and it was screaming in pain.

He'd betrayed his uncle and the rest of his family didn't want him around.

The Avatar had probably survived Azula's lightning and he would be blamed for it.

He was going to die in this crash. And nobody would miss him.

Out of habit, Zuko touched a trembling hand to the callous scar over his left eye. _"I used to think this scar marked me; the mark of the banished prince, cursed to chase the Avatar forever. But lately, I've realized I'm free to determine my own destiny, even if I'll never be free of my mark."_

Zuko remembered that those had been his exact words to the Waterbender. He knew that his actions after speaking those words meant he'd betrayed her too; yet another person to whom he'd never have the chance to apologize. In fact, he'd never be able to apologize to the Avatar or any of his friends for what he'd put him through over the past several months. And what of his claim to his own destiny? As far as he knew, his destiny would end here.

_Isn't everybody's destiny to die, in the end?_ Zuko mused darkly, dropping his hand from his somber face. He instead wrapped his arms around himself as a last embrace. _I'm so stupid for ever have forgetting that. We all have to pass on eventually—my time just happens to be sooner than later…Hell, after everything that's happened, I _deserve_ this._

In resignation, Zuko's one, panic-widened eye slowly relaxed. Finally, he submissively closed both.

* * *

><p>Just moments later, Azula watched through a telescope as the crooked airship up ahead finally hit the ground. It exploded on impact. The blast could only be faintly heard from here, in the navigation room of her own airship. She smirked in satisfaction—red lips stretching—as she watched the broken metal structure be consumed by beautiful flames of destruction. Not everybody in the room, though, appreciated the magnificence of such a sight. This was indicated by the strangled cry of horror from behind her. Azula frowned and whipped around.<p>

"_What_ is your problem, Ty Lee?" the fourteen-year old princess snapped at the petrified girl before her.

Ty Lee, a pink-clad childhood friend, stood with her hands clamped over her mouth. Her frightened brown eyes were wide, and she couldn't tear her stare from the window's view. Disbelief, shock, and grief were mixed into the fear written all over the brunette's face. The fourteen-year old acrobat couldn't speak. Tears were gathered in the corners of her eyes, but even they refused to move any further.

"_Zuko_ was in there, Azula!" spoke Mai, understanding Ty Lee's inability to speak. Completely dressed in black, the fifteen-year old raven stepped forward to place a hand on her braided friend's shoulder. Mai's amber gaze met Azula's, smoldering even though she wasn't a Firebender like the other. She, too, had grown up with Azula, being a governor's daughter. Mai continued, "Don't you care about your brother at all?"

"Why Mai, I'm surprised that you still did." Azula mused, folding her arms. The corner of her mouth lifted into another smirk. "I would've thought you'd gotten over your little crush. Oh well. It's not as if you can act on it now. Poor Zu-Zu…his only chance at romance will forever be out of his grasp." Azula shook her head in mock pity and sighed. "I guess I'll have to tell the Fire Lord in advance about this…_misfortunate_ turn of events. Wouldn't want to get the people's hopes up with the announcement of the Prince's return. If you'll excuse me…"

Barely containing her grin, Azula brushed passed the paralyzed Ty Lee and glided out of the room. Mai, whose gaze was still fixed on where Azula had been standing, allowed her tense shoulders to slump. Her eyes softened with uncharacteristic sympathy as she turned to her friend. She lightly squeezed Ty Lee's shoulder in what was meant to be a comforting gesture, but Ty Lee took it as in invitation to release her withheld emotion.

"M-Mai…" Ty Lee sputtered, turning to bury her face in her friend's clothing. She freely shed the tears that had been dammed by Azula's indifference. "Oh, Mai! All those p-people…and…Z-Z-Zu-k-ko…" she sniffed before continuing her tirade.

Mai, who usually closed off emotions, now couldn't help herself. She'd always admired Zuko from afar, but never dared to attempt an awkward confession. Azula and Ty Lee had both known about her "little crush", but only Ty Lee had ever supported her. After Zuko's prolonged absence, Mai's feelings had simmered down, but that didn't mean she didn't still care for him. To think that he was somewhere down in that wreckage was…

Mai raised her arms to wrap them around the trembling Ty Lee, closing her eyes to share her grief. She had to be strong, as she'd always told herself to be. But it was so hard…How had Azula been so…_nonchalant_? Opening her eyes narrowly in thought after a few moments, Mai remembered the lift of the Firebender's lips that she'd come to recognize as a smile. _It couldn't be…did Azula…?_

But before she could ponder the possibility further, the girl in her arms started to hyperventilate. Knowing that Ty Lee was naturally a pacifist who hated death, Mai focused solely on comforting the one person who wouldn't suffer unnecessarily if she could help it.

* * *

><p><strong>Remember you must die. Remember you will die. Remember to die. Memento Mori…<strong>

The darkness was foreign. It pressed down on him too heavily, and he was suffocating. He was trapped in the darkness. At the same time, though, the instability of the dark offered support against his feeling of free-falling. He was floating in the void—weightless—and he realized that he had no lungs _to _be suffocating. In fact, he had nothing. He _was_ nothing. No body, no worries, no desires. Just a consciousness.

The silence would have been deafening if he had ears. But because he did not, the clamor of the quiet simply embraced him with the darkness—the darkness that would have been blinding if he'd had eyes. He realized that in spite of this bizarre setting, he wasn't afraid. He wasn't confused. He wasn't tired. He just…_was_.

He came to know this darkness as the darkest he'd ever known. Dusk like this was absolutely unnatural to him and couldn't possibly have actually existed. After a few moments though (or had it been minutes? Hours? Years?), he realized that the blackness _didn't_ exist. The dark wasn't actually a myriad of shadows. Rather, warping and enveloping him were multifarious colors. Red danced with blue to make violet. Green spawned from blue and yellow, which'd had an affair with red to make orange. Orange wanted to be brown. Innocent pink was protected by magenta, cousin to lavender. Lime grew to forest green and communed with ocean navy. Blue-green couldn't decide if it was turquoise or teal, nor could burgundy decide to call itself maroon. Yellow and orange fought to be gold, who wanted to be known as amber. And gray, the love-child of black and white, proclaimed to be silver.

With so many mixing colors, the mirage was blinding-white pitch-blackness, and he realized that all was the same. One was all and all was one; the separation was only an illusion.

_I feel like I've heard that somewhere before._

He tried to remember the words that were suddenly imperative to not have forgotten. The words had been so familiar…and something told him that whoever had spoken them had been trying to describe this moment. This feeling. This place.

_Wait…what is "this place", exactly?_

There was nothing: nothing but the colors and the light of the darkness and the screaming silence; nothing but the crowded empty void. There was nobody: nobody but him; he was alone. He had nothing, no body, and nobody else.

_Who am I?_

**Ah, so you've finally awakened.**

He didn't recognize the voice. But then, there had been no voice _to _recognize. It had sounded like the words on a page—spoken in his thoughts and not identified as either male or female. Hollow. Had it been his thought? It had to be. He was alone, after all.

**Oh, you are **_**never**_** alone, Zuko.**

_Zuko?_ He thought. Was that his name? It did sound familiar…but no, it couldn't be. He wasn't sure how he knew, but something told him that "Zuko" was dead.

"**Dead" is a state of mind, Zuko. The death to which you refer has been inadequately defined by the mortal world's ideal. **_**True**_** death is the absence of spiritual life, which is virtually impossible. Do you understand, Zuko? The death you believe in is only an illusion.**

_But then…where do things go when they..."die" by mortal standards? _He wondered. If he was this "Zuko", he should have been dead. But if death was an illusion, then he very well could have been Zuko because he was is existence right now.

**That, Zuko, is a question you will come to answer on your own in due time. **The voice eluded. **But for now, there are other matters on which you must be curious. For instance, where are you, Zuko? And why are you here?**

He realized once the questions were voiced that they were, in fact, exactly what he wanted to know. But was the voice reading his thoughts, or asking _him_ for an answer? He pondered, figuring it was the latter.

_I suppose…I'm in the place called Limbo…And I'm here because…I _physically_ died, but not spiritually…?_

**You are correct, Zuko, in your technical response. But do you know **_**why**_** you are here?**

_I already answered that. _He thought, not sure what else the voice wanted to know.

All was quiet for a while—well, the same loud-quiet anyway. He floated motionless in the state of consciousness, waiting for some sort of reply. There wasn't one for what seemed to be several months compacted into a few seconds, and he was beginning to grow anxious for the first time since coming to awareness in the Void. Had he only been "talking" to himself, after all? If he had been, then searching for answers was pointless because his conscience was a part of him; therefore, the "Voice" didn't know any more than he did.

He grew apprehensive when he realized what else a nonexistent Voice meant: he was truly alone. And he would have to spend an eternity, in this unfathomable Void, alone.

_Oh…_he thought, despair rising in his absent throat. If he'd had eyes, he would've been crying. Oh, how he _hated_ to be alone! What had he done to deserve this sense of inescapable solitude? Why him? Oh, what he wouldn't give; what he wouldn't _do_ to end the cycle of loneliness. If he had to spend forever in this state of Limbo by himself, he just might actually, "spiritually" die.

So why…why did he sort of feel that he deserved this?

**Oh Zuko, nobody deserves to be alone. But it seems you are beginning to recognize your reason for being here.**

He began to berate himself for his conscience, which appeared to be mocking him now. But he paused in doing so. If he really did only have himself, should he be pushing his self away? If not with the intention of remaining sane, he could at least "talk" to himself for boredom's sake. In total solemnity, he mentally sighed and decided to amuse himself by inquiring.

_So why am I here exactly, oh All-Knowing Voice?_

The Voice briefly chuckled, which he thought was odd because it was one of those I-know-something-you-don't-know chuckles. And it was impossible for him to know more than he actually did, right?

**Oh, youth can be so amusing.** The Voice commented, clearly bemused. **Zuko, you already know why you are here.**

_Okay, I never thought I'd be annoyed by myself, but you're really starting to piss me off with this cryptic crap. _If he had a mouth, he would've been scowling.

**Come now, Zuko. You've always been so clever. You've heard the rumor about spirits who can't pass on because they feel regretful—remorseful, guilty—correct?**

_Well, sure, but…_He then realized that the Voice was referring to his earlier feeling of overwhelming guilt. _Overwhelming guilt…_

**Exactly, Zuko. And what is it that you feel guilty for?**

_Being a traitor._ He supplied automatically. Although, he couldn't remember who he'd betrayed or in what way…or how he could've let himself do something terrible enough for it to follow him into the afterlife—if that's what this was.

**Precisely, Zuko. That is why you are here: because you can't forgive yourself for breaking faiths with other people. But most importantly, Zuko, you are here because you have broken faith with yourself.**

He was speechless because when he thought about it, it was true. Somehow, he had disappointed himself. He couldn't remember how, or what he could do to make amends, or if he would ever even have the opportunity to anyway. But he doubted he deserved another chance.

**Everybody deserves another chance, Zuko. And that is another reason why you are here: you are being given the chance at…a "do-over" of sorts.**

_You mean, go back in time?_

**No, Zuko. You must move forward in life because, remember, you live. Remember that you **_**have **_**to live. Remember to live, Zuko; Memento Vivere.**

…_Live? _He was dumbfounded by the miraculous proposition. _Is this…for real?_ This meant that he could work to fix everything he'd messed up. He'd be able to apologize to everybody he'd hurt and work to regain their faith in him. He would finally cease to consider himself a failure. And best of all, he wouldn't be alone anymore.

**Actually, it's a coincidence that you should think that, Zuko…**The Voice interrupted his excavation of hope. _Oh, here it comes. _He thought wistfully. _I should've known there'd be a catch._

**Not a "catch", per se. More like the terms on which your revival is based. You see, Zuko, you may not remember right now, but your life up to this point has been full of turmoil. Because that turmoil began so early in your life, you have yet to experience the single simple pleasure of being a human being.**

_And what would that be, Great Voice in My Head?_ Despite him not having one.

**Why, Zuko…**_**Love**_**, of course.**

That pulled him up short. What the hell was the Voice talking about? _I know what love is,_ he thought defensively.

**Do you really? Your past actions have demonstrated otherwise.** The Voice stated.

_Well…so what? _He begrudgingly admitted, finding it useless to argue with his self. _What does a concept like love have anything to do with my "revival"?_

The Voice practically huffed in exasperation. **Oh, Zuko, **_**everything**_**. Love has **_**everything**_** to do with it. You see, as cliché as humans make this sound, a life without love is incomplete and unfulfilled. The quantity, quality, and focus of one's love ultimately influence one's decisions because, in the end, the heart is stronger than the mind. Even people who aim to emotionally detach themselves are not completely free because it is in human nature to love others. You, Zuko,** the Voice continued, **have yet to utilize said aspect of yourself. Such is the regulation of your revival.**

_So…what is it, exactly, that I have to do? _He asked, confused once again. He briefly wondered if he'd been as impatient in his past life, but dismissed the unnecessary thought.

**You must love, Zuko.**The Voice answered plainly—to his relief and slight surprise. **Remember to love; Memento Amor.**

_You mean, all I have to do is fall in love? _He mulled this over. He knew he'd sound arrogant by saying this but... _That seems simple enough._

**Predictable, Zuko. **The Voice somewhat scolded, but was amused nevertheless. **Love is a two-way street. An entrance as well as an exit. You not only must learn to give away your affection, but earn that of others' in return. Only then will you regain the faith you have lost in yourself and settle your inner turmoil. This leads to the matter of your body…**

_My body?_

**Yes, Zuko. Remember, you ended up here because you are technically dead by the mortal world's standards. Your previous human body has been damaged beyond repair. Usually, beings in your situation must dwell in their replacement bodies for the remainder of their reincarnated lives. **_**You**_**, however, have been allowed to reclaim your human form once you have fulfilled the terms of your resurrection because—**

_Wait._ He interrupted. The Voice silenced. _So let me get this straight…I have to fall in love, and be loved in return, but I won't be human? Then what am I supposed to be?_

He wasn't given a verbal response. Rather, he slowly became aware of a tingling all around and throughout his consciousness. The colors of the Void began to pulse more rapidly, if such thing was even possible. And he felt warm. Wait, how was _that_ possible, he wondered, if he didn't have a body? The warmth was growing and he still wasn't given an explanation. The Void was roaring as the soothing warmth rose to an uncomfortable heat…and he was beginning to feel feverish.

_What's happening?_

The colors were spinning madly, and amidst the stirring chaos, he realized that he'd somehow been able to detect the colors despite his lack of sight. Now, the Void was once again distorting, but this time actual light was seeping into his surroundings. It was bright. He was hot. He'd forgotten what it was that he'd wanted to know. He nearly forgot about the Voice as well, had it not chosen that moment with what he somehow sensed was a sort of farewell.

**You'll do fine, Zuko. Just remember, you're never alone.**

He couldn't reply. Everything was fading quickly around him: the darkness was melting to a pure white light. The shouting of the silence dulled to a familiar popping crackle. And he suddenly had a brief sensation of free-falling.

Then, all at once, everything stopped.

All was still, quiet, and he couldn't see a thing. The heat was gone, and in its absence, he felt rather cold. Colder than he ever remembered being. It was freezing.

Zuko opened amber eyes.

* * *

><p><em><strong>You can not fully live without<strong>_  
><em><strong>Knowing what you're here for right now<strong>_

_**You're not here by accident**_  
><em><strong>Life lives<strong>_

_**If you don't know the way and you're lost**_  
><em><strong>This truth will bridge the gap and carry you across<strong>_

_**You're not here by accident**_  
><em><strong>Life lives<strong>_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Longest first chapter I've ever written. :O

So, what do you all think? Much more angst than romance in this chapter, obviously, but chapter two is when the fun begins. :D

~Thanks for reading, please review, 'Taku ^^


	2. This Close

_**Memento Amor**_

**Summary:**After betraying his Uncle—and ultimately himself—beneath Ba Sing Se, Zuko is involved in a freak accident. Given another chance by the spirits, Zuko is placed in the body of a cat and must redeem his own honor. This time though, he must _remember to love_, and he somehow finds himself chasing the Avatar in an entirely different way...Kitty! Zuko

**Story Pairing:** Zuko/ Aang

**Chapter Rating:** T

**Disclaimer:** All characters of _Avatar: The Last Airbender_ are property of Nickelodeon. Also, all song lyrics belong to the American alternative metal band, Flyleaf.

* * *

><p><em>Why?<em>

Why was it so cold? Something was terribly, horribly wrong. It was too cold. It was just like when he'd been stranded in that blizzard up at the North Pole. The only possible explanation for his survival back then could have been his internal heat, with him being a Fire Bender. But right now, it felt as if that bright flame—present since his birth—had somehow been snuffed. Its absence left him shivering, even as a blistering _external _heat nipped at his skin. Something was wrong. Whatever its source, he remembered that he would usually find comfort in such warmth. At the moment, however, he felt his entire being stand on end. Rather than comfort, the outer heat screamed _danger_. And even as he was yet dragged into consciousness, he just knew that something was wrong.

His thoughts were clouded by an opaque haze, and his senses seemed to be blocked by something. But when they came, they flooded him with sensations of an intensity he'd never felt before. His dry eyes burned and he realized that he hadn't blinked in all the time he'd been lying with them sightlessly open. Blinking now, his eyesight began to return, but he still felt as if he were looking at the world through a dust window. He was also confused as to why everything was oblique compared to what he subconsciously expected. Then, slowly, his brain processed the fact that he was lying on the ground; on his side.

A layer of gray substance coated the topsoil near his face, and several specks of the same stuff danced before him, not wanting to settle. Some tickled his nose, causing it to twitch involuntarily. His sense of smell was coming back to him. The gray matter burned his nostrils with its unique scent, and he recognized it as ash.

_Ash…_ He'd never realized how distinct its smell was.

He also began to notice the gurgling in his ears, as if he were underwater (which, he could see, was obviously not the case). The gurgling grew louder and louder…until whatever it was roared mercilessly, beating on his eardrums. Why was the world so _loud_? And had his ears always been so sensitive? He swore he could feel them shifting atop his head like antennae as they tried to make sense of what was going on around him. The noisy blare was difficult to decipher, but he ever so slowly came to recognize it as that of a roaring blaze. _Fire_, he concluded, pinpointing the source of the heat he felt behind him. His back felt as though he was being carefully roasted over an open flame.

_Fire…and ash…_ Two childhood friends who now approached him as complete strangers. Why did he feel the need to move away? The urge to get up and run? What was the clenching in his gut and the nagging at his mind that told him his current location was unsafe?

He didn't know, but he'd grown up following the impulses that some would call instinct, and right now was not an exception. Blinking again, he rolled over onto his belly. The action disturbed the ash that had settled there; sending up a gray could that lingered in the air around him. But he ignored how the particles clung to his body's surface area and continued to push up onto his feet. Once standing, though, he swayed a bit, and his eyes reflected the spinning of his thoughts until he took an unbalanced step forward. The planting of that foot on solid ground reassured him, and he shook his head lightly to refocus his mind. Then he looked around.

As it turned out, his eyes hadn't been playing tricks on him: taking in his surroundings really was like peering through a dusty window. Judging by the number of visible trees, he figured he was in a forest of some kind. But instead of green garb, everything was coated in a sheet of gray. Ash like snow floated down from the blackened sky, settling just as gently on the broken tree limbs and frosting the barren ground. Fog prevented him from seeing more than a few meters ahead. The stinging in his eyes, though, indicated that it was not fog, but smoke that completed the eerie beauty. That explained the slight burning in his chest that accompanied each shaky breath he inhaled.

Yes, he was shaking. Partly because of the ice he imagined flowing sluggishly through his veins, but also from something else. His body wanted to run. He wanted to charge straight into the silver-shrouded unknown before him and not look back. That want—that _need_—to run…caused him to take a few steps forward. Ash curled around his ankles, though, and he halted as if he were caught in chains. What really rooted him to the spot was his natural curiosity; the part of him that wanted to look back to see what exactly he'd be running from. There was no harm in that.

Without further debate, he turned around…

…and came face to face with the fiery pits of Hell.

The searing wall of heat that had been at his back now hit him head on. His face would burn, just like his back, if he looked for too long. But he couldn't tear his eyes away. It was so bright. _Too _bright. Orange and yellow and red smudged familiarly into a white hot structure that towered above him. Fingers of threatening temperatures reached out to caress his face, and he couldn't move. He shouldn't have turned around, because now he was frozen from the inside-out, and the fire would eventually cover that short distance to consume him. No matter how wide his eyes grew, all he could see was fire. All he could hear was the flame's howl.

He was close to smoldering, but he was still so cold. He wanted to somehow pull that intense heat inside of him, where it belonged. But he couldn't because he couldn't think beneath the terror and awe warring in his chest. **Run.**Somebody thought for him.

And then he smelled it. A stench so awfully foul, he wondered how he'd taken so long to notice it. Something he had hoped to never smell again, because his memory of it alone would forever haunt him. But here it was; real, and back with a vengeance that made his eyes water. One wouldn't know the abomination-of-a-scent from the tantalizing aroma of dinner over a campfire. But he knew. Oh, he knew:

The smell of scorching human flesh.

He turned and bolted.

He ran blindly at first, the sudden dimness of the woods a shocking change of lighting. But even when he did manage to blink away the last shadows of light, everything seemed to shoot by him in a blur. He darted over the uneven forest floor as fast as his legs would carry him, which was surprisingly fast. He couldn't remember ever being so lithe, but he was grateful for whatever change had occurred because it now enabled him to escape Hell's clutches a lot quicker. His chaotic jumble of thoughts reorganized a bit with each minute he continued to run.

Ash blanketed earth gave way to singed grass, which grew greener under every gallop. Overhead, more leaf-needles and cones began to appear on branches, and the smoke clouded sky cleared to reveal that it was past Midday. But he continued to sprint. His body's stamina and endurance impressed him, seeing as how his breathing was barely ragged after all this way, and the raised roots of the forest hadn't tripped him up once. Plus, with each passing moment, his thoughts began to make more sense.

He realized now that what he'd fled from hadn't been Hell. But it may as well have been.

How had he survived such destruction? Surely the impact of the crash alone should've killed him, and yet he'd somehow even managed to escape the wreckage unscathed. _Well, not completely unscathed,_ he noted, bringing to attention the irritating feeling on his back. He wasn't in so much agony that he knew he would have another scar, but he could tell that the skin would be sensitive for a while. Especially since any ointment he'd had in his travel pack had undoubtedly been incinerated….

He shook his head to dismiss the thoughts. He didn't want to remember the crash, or if he'd felt anything in that last moment, or the horrid smell of the crew's death. He didn't want to remember why he'd been on that doomed airship in the first place, or what he'd had to do to earn it. He didn't want to remember his mistakes; his life. He didn't want to remember who he was.

But then…thinking about what one _doesn't_ want to remember is really an indirect way of remembering those exact things. Therefore, he tried, but couldn't really stop the torrent of unwanted thoughts that invaded and infected his mind.

_I am Zuko; son of Ozai and Ursa; brother to Azula; prince of the Fire Nation._ His body stretched. _I am an outcast; a traitor and, most of all, a failure._ His muscles ached. _I couldn't please my father. I couldn't prevent my mother's disappearance. I couldn't capture the Avatar. I disappointed Uncle. _He gritted his teeth and willed his tiring body to run faster, ignoring the sting of the wind on his back.

_My name is Zuko and I should be dead. I deserved to die. I was _ready_ to die. Why didn't I? Why am I not dead? What could I possibly have to live for? Nobody wants me. The world hates me, as it should. I hated myself and I _wanted_ to die. Why did I live? Why am I alive? I have nowhere to go because I have nobody to go to. It's just me, all by myself. I am alone now and…oh, Agni, it hurts! Why does it hurt so much? And why is it so damn _cold_? I need…Help! Somebody, anybody, please…It's so cold and it hurts so much…Why? Just tell me, why? I…I'm just so…_

He didn't notice when the gradual decline of the forest floor become not so gradual, or when gravity was propelling him forward rather than muscle. The throbbing pulse in his temples obscured his ability to comprehend his own actions as his body instinctually tried to regain balance. His feet scrambled, trying to slow down, but inertia—and inevitability—were not merciful. Attempting to skid to a stop on the steep, muddy slope only resulted in his feet slipping forward, throwing the rest of him backwards until he was sliding down the cliff's face on his raw, tender back-side.

The friction was painful. _Very _painful. And he voiced his agony with an outcry as his silent pleading went unheard.

But was it just the building mud and soot in his ears, or was his voice _not his voice_? What he heard was not the raspy shout of an adolescent male, but the scratchy shriek of an animal. And it was, most definitely, not the sound of any animal he'd ever heard. Such a detail, though, was not as important (at the moment) as the original cause for the outburst. His back stung. He could feel each and every one of the tiny pebbles of the wet, gritty rock scratch at his back's sore spot, like rubbing salt into an open wound.

But he couldn't fight gravity—couldn't fight nature—and he wondered if he was in Hell after all. Would the pain never cease? He wondered this, also, as he endured the entire graceless ride down the decline…until the earth finally leveled out and his weight brought him tumbling to a stop.

In reality, his torture lasted less than thirty seconds. But of course, torture often makes the most fleeting of moments last a lifetime.

Zuko groaned—which also sounded strange to his clogged ears—and rolled over onto his belly to relieve the stress from his undoubtedly bleeding back. Then he laid still, eyes screwed shut as the screaming pain reduced to a much quieter cry. This, therefore, eventually allowed him to hear something other than his inner turmoil. Despite their blockage, his ears twitched to pick up the sound of running water. Sweet, cool, reviving flowing water. And even though he shouldn't have been alive; even though he thought he deserved to suffer, his body begged to differ. It wanted to get up and take a running-leap into the liquid responsible for that alluring euphony…to bathe in nature's soothing lifeblood and relish in the brief healing relief it would offer….

His body craved the comfort—something he'd always deprived himself of because he was determined to prove that he could endure anything without help; alone. But right now, he actually was alone, and there was nobody for him to feel the need to prove himself to. So why not indulge, just this once?

Zuko sighed inwardly though, not quite ready to get up from his spot on the riverbank. He felt weak. Instead, he turned his head to see what awaited him. The river was wide, and the water's edge was just a few paces away. He couldn't tell its depth from this angle, but he did notice that the current wasn't all that fast. In fact, it was so slow that he wondered how he'd been able to hear it at all. Zuko was also surprised by the water's powerful scent. And what he smelled, he didn't like. It was salt water…which meant that bathing in it would literally apply salt to his wounds. And did he really want to risk more pain later for momentary relief now?

Weighing the options, Zuko eventually decided that immersing his self in his current state would be one of his most senseless mistakes up to date, and he didn't want to make any more. So he lay there, staring at the river and willing away his urges to sob. But it was so _hard_. His one chance to be comforted vanished as quickly as that, and now he didn't know what to do.

This wasn't like that instance when he'd almost starved to death while riding that ostrich-horse around. Back then, he'd been fortunate enough to happen across that little Earth Kingdom village with the small pocket change he'd had. Back then, he'd still been set on finding the Avatar, and that determination had driven him forward. Back then, he'd been ungrateful enough to voluntarily leave his uncle Iroh.

Right now, Zuko tried to think of where he would be on the world map he now knew by heart. The few airships headed back to the Fire Nation had been en route southeast, crossing Chameleon Bay before they would've continued right on across the ocean. He was lying beside a river. The only river that would've been close enough for him to run to from the crash-sight was the river linking Chameleon Bay to Serpent's Pass. Reptile's Tail.

With a tired sigh, Zuko remembered that, to his knowledge, there were no remaining towns along Reptile's Tail. Meaning that even if he did summon the strength—and the will—to get up and search for medical assistance, he would probably die from exposure or starvation. And even if he did miraculously stumble upon civilization, he wouldn't have any money, and he'd already made up his mind not to steal food again if he could help it.

Meaning he was royally screwed.

Zuko trembled, once again feeling the loss if his inner flame. His eyes stung. He blinked away the tears, and then scolded himself for wanting to cry. Why was he surprised? Why had he expected any different? Why did it hurt so much to realize he was alone now, when he'd hardly felt any qualms about it before?

It was becoming difficult to breathe, and he couldn't understand the painful squeezing in his chest. All he knew was that it hurt, and that he was shivering from the cold, and that he'd momentarily forgotten all about his exposed, bloody back. He also knew that he wanted it to stop. He wanted to shut off the threat that was reality and lapse into the worriless sleep he hadn't had in years. He wanted the empty loneliness to end.

It was just like that fever he'd had in Ba Sing Se. Only he was freezing out, not burning up.

_I…need to calm down…_He thought, trying to heel his lungs before he started hyperventilating. Oh wait, he already was. _I…need to focus…what…would Uncle say…to do…?_

_**Just remember, you're never alone.**_

_Did…Uncle say that? _Zuko wondered, feeling the words were vaguely familiar, as if somebody had actually given him that advice. _I'm…never alone…? _The squeezing loosened a bit by just repeating the words, as if they'd comforted him whenever he began to panic as a child. Like an old lullaby. _I'm never alone…_Zuko thought again. It was a calming notion, alright. His breathing already sounded less frantic. _I'm never alone. I'm never alone. _It felt better just to have some form of an answer—some form of hope—especially knowing that somebody had actually cared enough to reassure him. The biting cold within him faded in intensity with each repetition of the mantra. _I'm never alone, I'm never alone, I'm never alone…_

It took several minutes, but Zuko actually managed to coax himself down to a leveled manner of thinking, which he hadn't been on even when he'd first woken up. _I'm never really alone. _He repeated for the umpteenth time. He was regaining confidence. His uncle was still out there. And because Zuko was lying here right now, alive, he still had the chance to find Iroh and prove his worth. He would find and get the man out of jail…somehow. And he vowed not to give up until he was back in the retired general's good graces; until he regained the love he'd always taken for granted.

He also still had the chance to find the Avatar.

He just _knew_ the Airbender was still alive somewhere. Not only did he feel it, but it was logical. The tattooed nomad appeared passive, but Zuko knew well that the boy's stubborn streak could be just as fierce as his own…meaning that a lightning strike from Azula wouldn't be his demise. Besides. If _he_ had survived Hell's incarnate, how could the _Avatar_ not survive a single bolt of electricity?

Zuko promised to find Iroh and the Avatar's group and apologize to them each a hundred times over, if he had to.

But a thousand-mile journey begins with the first step, and his first step was to stand up.

Pushing against the ground, Zuko regretted his prolonged lounging. By now, the sun was already beginning its descent to the horizon, and here he was with no shelter for the night. Ignoring the sensation of nail dragged down his back, he righted himself. In doing so, Zuko noticed a couple of things. The first was that, unexpectedly, standing up was more difficult than staying up, and he didn't even sway once on his feet. The other was that, even in his right mind, the ground seemed a lot closer than he remembered it being. Just so he didn't question his sanity for the entire trek ahead, Zuko looked down to inspect himself for the first time.

And what he saw made his newly discovered claws dig into the ground—before his very eyes—as he screamed like some kind of animal.

Literally.

* * *

><p>"It won't be long now."<p>

Sokka's shoulders tensed in surprise at the sudden presence beside him. He looked over to see a pair of brown-clothed knees before raising his head to identify his father, Hakoda, from beneath the wolf-head helmet of his warrior armor. Their outfits were similar, and the "son" in Sokka swelled with pride as he realized what that meant: he was a Water Tribe warrior, just like his dad; as he'd wanted to be for years. But at the moment, Sokka-the-son's pride was being overshadowed by Sokka-the-friend's anxiety, and his usual excitement was greatly dulled by worry.

As if sensing this (with what Sokka supposed they called "parental instinct"), Hakoda glanced down at his son knowingly. "Sokka," the man continued, "He'll be fine. You said your sister has been working on him the whole time, right?"

Sokka nodded slightly before down casting his blue eyes to the sand between his outstretched legs. Back to the doodles he'd been drawing before Hakoda's appearance. The preparations for the attack had been completed that morning, and the airships they'd been looking for had been spotted in the distance hours ago. There had been nothing else to do since then but to lay in wait. Looking at the awful scribbles now, even Sokka couldn't tell what his hands had been attempting to create. The teenager sighed.

"She's exhausting herself, dad." Sokka replied wearily, but with all the concern of a protective older brother. The sixteen year-old was worn down his self from the past week's chaos, but there was no way he was going to sit this one out.

The chief, knowing his son well, knew this, and so did not force Sokka to stay on the side lines with his sister. Hakoda unfolded his arms and squatted down in the sand, resting a heavy, tan, reassuring hand on Sokka's shoulder. Said meat-lover raised his head again to meet the elder's gaze; blue meeting identical blue. The two didn't did to speak in order to convey their understanding, a bond that Sokka had been elated to discover still existed between them, despite his father's absence from the Southern Tribe.

_Remember, your sister is strong. It's all going to work out, Sokka. _Hakoda's eyes affirmed. They smiled, small wrinkles at the corners wrinkling in their middle-age. _How could it not, with two of the greatest Water Tribe warriors as support?_

Sokka's were relaxed, shining gratitude. _Your right, Chief…Thanks, Dad._

After a moment, Hakoda stood up. "Well," he started, looking out over the bay. The water sparkled a bit, reflecting the sun, but showing no other signs of movement. Then, right at the horizon, Hakoda's experienced lenses pinpointed a series of black dots that hadn't been there before. The sign he'd been predicting would come before sunset, and here it was. "It looks like they're here."

Hakoda turned, cupped his hands to his mouth, and called out to his men, whom were scattered here and there in this area of the bay's beach. "All right men! You know what to do!"

There was a chorus of bass and baritone in response. Sokka got to his feet, standing at attention in respect to his leader, along with his fellow warriors. Sokka-the-warrior was now on duty, but Sokka-the-friend would be there to fuel his actions as he helped capture one of the approaching Fire Nation ships.

* * *

><p>Zuko was tired.<p>

It felt as if he'd been walking _forever_, and not once had he allowed himself to stop to rest. He was following the river's flow—which he'd concluded was eastward; since the sun was setting behind him—but was staying as close to the cliff's face on his right as possible. He had been trudging along the water's edge, but he changed positions for a number of reasons. One was that he caught his self glancing down in disbelief at his reflection so often, he wasn't keeping up to pace. Another was that the longer he looked into the water, the more he was lured to jump in, which he knew would be disastrous. So Zuko strayed, quite reluctantly, to the opposite side of the riverbank.

It was a relief, not being tempted to look down any more. It was a relief not to see the black, four legged creature he'd somehow become. It was a relief not to notice the short, dirty fur, ruined on his back. It was a relief not to involuntarily twitch his round-tipped ears, tweak his small black nose, or wave his long, thin tail.

Yes. He had a tail. A furry, fucking _tail_.

Zuko hadn't been able to restrain himself from bounding right over to the water's edge upon seeing his light, toned arms were slim, dark _legs with paws_.He'd had to know if he was just hallucinating; if he'd inhaled more carbon dioxide than he'd thought and if it had went to his head. Afterwards, he wished he hadn't. Because no matter how many times he looked to reassure himself, he still wasn't _him_. And it was unsettling.

But surprisingly, after getting over the initial shock, Zuko found that he wasn't nearly as surprised as he should have been. It was as if someone had told him before that things like this happened: that people come back to life in different bodies; that _he_ would survive the airship crash, but wouldn't wake up as a human. It was as if he'd subconsciously been expecting this, and that his shock had only been because he'd never seen an animal like him before. He had the head of a Cat Owl, but the body of the Pygmy Puma he'd seen once in Ba Sing Se...

And strangely, he felt comfortable in his new skin.

Well, as comfortable as he could get with his back in pain, anyway. It certainly explained why all his senses seemed to be heightened.

He just wanted to lie down. He'd dealt with the irritation for what had to be hours now, and his feet—_paws_—were starting to drag. He couldn't recall the last time he'd slept, and he was too mentally exhausted to even attempt to remember. All he knew was that the human in him didn't care; he could drop down right here and fall asleep right now. But instinctively—being the animal he now knew he was (for how long, he wasn't sure)—he felt that it wasn't safe to sleep out in the open. He hadn't yet come across any predators, still, he dragged forward. Something told him to keep going. That refuge would come along soon enough….

_How soon is "soon enough"? _Zuko thought irritably.

He wouldn't receive an answer until a short while later. Just about ready to collapse, Zuko slowed to a stop. The sun was no longer visible directly behind him, seeing as how the river meandered; however, it still illuminated the sky with an orange-redness that told him he didn't have much time left. Suppressing his body's urge to take a step forward and continue from there, Zuko turned to face the cliff wall, ready to slump against it and go to sleep, predators be damned. But the cliff was gone.

Zuko blinked tiredly and looked up. Oh, no, the cliff was still there. But he was standing in front of a cave. _No, not a cave…_ A dugout. Whether it had been carved into the cliff face or had formed naturally, he had no way of telling, nor did he particularly care. All he saw was, finally, a place to stay.

Zuko entered the dugout without a second thought and was mildly surprised when, even in the dimmed light, he could see where he was going. He supposed it was thanks to the animal eyesight his uncle used to tell him about. Back then, he hadn't seen the point in having such knowledge, but now, he was grateful for the fact. He saw shapes. At first, he couldn't tell what they were; just that they were large and not well defined in the darkness. Big, indefinable lumps of earth that had probably fallen from the roof of the dugout.

Then he smelled them.

Their scents mixed with the shadows of ash that still lingered in his nostrils, and when Zuko focused, he could hear their faint breathing. Trying to discern the scents, he determined that there had to be four of them. Their breaths were out of sync with each other, but they individually sounded pretty calm. Perhaps they were sleeping.

_Why would anybody be sleeping in here? _He briefly wondered. The answer was immediately obvious though. _Because they're just like me, with nowhere to go…._

Zuko turned, rather reluctantly, to leave the dugout. It was a pretty small space anyway, and as much as Zuko craved to be around other beings, he was still a bit disturbed by the crash, currently experiencing a mild case of claustrophobia. Figuring he would just rest right outside the dugout, though (since his body wasn't up for any more immediate traveling), Zuko hadn't gotten far before his senses went on high alert. He'd walked right out into darkness. There, looming above him and casting a shadow onto the cliff wall—obscuring the dugout's entrance—was metal. Cold, dark, offending metal that he'd come to recognize anywhere.

A Fire Nation naval ship.

Zuko didn't think. He turned on his heels and scampered back into the dugout, burrowing into the first source of protection he could find. He didn't even look back to count the number of ships cruising up the Reptile's Tail. He didn't notice that there was one less ship present than what he'd been informed was coming to reinforce Ba Sing Se since it had fallen. He didn't peek out even when the sound of monstrous engines had passed, leaving the water to settle.

Zuko had hidden, curled up defensively with his eyes squeezed shut, and unintentionally fallen asleep.

Minutes later, another shadow entered the fading light that reached into the dugout. This shadow, however, wasn't even six feet tall, and was much, much slimmer than that of a ship.

"Katara, are you guys alright?" the shadow spoke.

Sokka's bright blue eyes searched the darkness as he stepped into the small space, trying to make out the figures he was looking for. His ears strained to hear any indication of whether his sister was still, in fact, in the dugout, or if she and the others had somehow been caught by the passing Fire Nation fleet. After a few moments, his concern was dispelled.

"We're fine, Sokka." Katara answered from somewhere in the dugout. Her voice sounded a bit groggy, and Sokka was pleased to realize she'd been spending her time resting rather than fretting over their friend: as she'd been doing ever since they fled Ba Sing Se via Appa.

"Well you guys can come out now." Sokka said. He stepped further into the dugout as his eyes began to adjust. "I'll take Aang. You and Earth King Kuei head back to the beach. Dad, Toph, and the others are already on the ship."

"Is everybody okay?" Katara asked with anxiety evident in her tone. If anybody else had gotten hurt…Katara shook her head to shun the negative thoughts. She was reassured by her older brother's response.

"Of course; it went off without a hitch. We waited for the tail of the fleet before we struck, so there wasn't any unnecessary fighting. Just like you asked, oh dear sister." Sokka ended with a hint of sarcasm, wanting his younger sister to relax.

Accustomed to the darkness because she'd been in it all day, Katara carefully maneuvered the sleeping boy in her arms as she stood up. Sokka turned towards her, hearing the shift, and stepped closer until they could careful perform the exchange. He held Aang bridal style in his arms, cautious not to disturb the wound on the poor little guy's back. Aang's breathing hitched only slightly at the change in position, seeing as how he'd been in Katara's lap all day, but continued to sleep.

From behind him, Sokka heard a deep grunt, and he turned to see the Earth King and his pet bear, Basco, exiting the dugout in the direction of the mouth of the bay. He glanced back at Katara, who was stretching. She'd been cooped up in the dugout ever since that morning, warned by Sokka and the others to stay as still as possible, should something go wrong and the soldiers came searching. Now though, she was relieved to be allowed to walk again. And to hear that her request had been honored.

"That's good." She responded simply, ready to go. She wanted to get out of this place; to put further distance between herself and bad memories. She also felt a bit guilty for falling asleep instead of healing Aang in her spare time, even though it couldn't be helped. She wanted to get settled on the ship the warriors had captured so that she could continue her work as soon as possible.

"Wait, don't forget your stuff." Sokka reminded, turning to leave with the last Airbender in his hands. "By the way, I'm starving. I can't remember the last time I had any meat…."

"I thought you ate that fish this morning." Katara said, smirking slightly. She loved her brother, especially when she knew he was trying to make her feel better.

Sokka replied just as Katara bent down to retrieve her bag of Water Bending scrolls. "Fish isn't meat," he said, matter-of-factly. "Meat is meat; meat is much more delicious!"

"Oh, so you're saying all those times I cooked you fish and you said it was delicious, you really didn't think it was?" Katara inquired in mock offense as she slung the bag over her shoulder. She couldn't stop the tug of her lips as Sokka tried to defend himself ("Now Possum Chicken? _That _was some good stuff!"). She felt a bit lighter now that Aang was out of her hands—both figuratively and literally—if only for a few minutes. But she didn't notice that she wasn't feeling as light as she could have been.

For because she'd been used to handling Aang's weight for the past few days, she wasn't alerted by the fact that her bag of scrolls was now twice as heavy as when she'd put it down beside her that morning.

* * *

><p><em><strong>I had a dream that we were dead<strong>__**  
><strong>__**But we pretended that we still lived**__**  
><strong>__**With no regrets, we never bled**__**  
><strong>__**And we took everything life could give**__**  
><strong>__**And came **__**up broken, empty handed in the end…**_

___**Had a dream that fire fell**__**  
><strong>__**from an opening in the sky**__**  
><strong>__**And someone warned me of this hell**__**  
><strong>__**And I spit in his naive eye**__**  
><strong>__**And left him crying for my soul**__**  
><strong>__**He said would die…**_

___**In the hearts of the blind**__**  
><strong>__**Something you'll never find**__**  
><strong>__**Is a vision of light**__**  
><strong>__**With the voice of the dead, I'm screaming**_

___**I don't know who I am anymore**__**  
><strong>__**Not once in life have I been real**__**  
><strong>__**But I've never felt this close before**__**  
><strong>__**I've been looking in your window**__**  
><strong>__**I've been dressing in your clothes**__**  
><strong>__**I've been walking dead**__**  
><strong>__**Watching you**__**  
><strong>__**Long enough to know I can't go on**_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Sorry for taking so long to update! And I'm sorry for torturing Zuko, but it was necessary! D:

This chapter dedicated to _Squidcats_, _new moongirl_, and _milk0bar_…my first three reviewers of this story! But thanks to you all for reading and reviewing, and I hope this chapter didn't disappoint too much.

~Please drop another review? 'Taku ^^


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